Ch. 1: Austin
Back to Arheled Why it is that the wimpy nerds who always get picked on make the most interesting characters in books, Austin had no idea. He mulled it over as he walked up Lake Street; his phone showed no new text messages since he’d texted Brianna he was turning up Lake, so likely she was in swimming already. Maybe it had to do with the tormented-soul thing his elder brother, who was taking literature classes down at the Community College, was always talking about; characters had to be conflicted or have conflicts, they had to be ones the reader would identify with, and so on. Stupid if you asked him; he despised wimpy nerds. Walking was dull, but when your dad wouldn’t get you a car and you were too lazy to fix your bike, there wasn’t much choice. You needed stuff to think about when you’d forgotten your earbuds and your IPOD was a useless weight in your pocket. He passed the fork where Boyd Street bore right, winding in a long curve up the same hill Lake Street climbed straight up. Bittersweet vines from the untended steep bank below the left-hand houses overhung the sidewalk and he had to stoop. The steep road bent left around a high shoulder of hill. Dimly Austin noticed the house on the right-hand corner of the curve: it was older than the others and made of stone, but it entered his sight and passed. He seldom paid much attention to things. Now he was past the hill. Ahead he could see the concrete barrier at the edge of the lake, like a horizon; and he walked on, impatient to get there. He couldn’t see the gatehouse or tell if Brianna was there. Maybe she would be wearing that lemon-colored top of hers again, the one that barely held in her round breasts. The thought made him breathe heavily as he walked. Old houses ran beside the road on the left, with woods on the right. There was a ruined structure still there, boarded up, bushes around it, faded blue letters on the side still saying UNION PIN COMPANY. Then there was the marina boat shop on the left, across from the ruin, and he was crossing the intersection. He saw a girl’s slim white back, interrupted only by the string of her bikini, above the concrete barrier beside the gatehouse. Golden hair; that would be Jenna. Then a streaming head of dark hair popped up beside it, and Brianna was yelling “it’s Austin!” She wore the lemon top, sure enough. Sopping wet as she was she hugged him tightly, hoping to get him as wet as possible. “Hey, Bree.” he drawled. She kissed him—Brianna was free with kisses, sometimes—and dragged him up by the gatehouse. A gap in the barrier, closed by a green thick metal floodgate, was open, giving onto a small grassy terrace. The gatehouse, a square box-like hut with a peaked shingle roof that housed the machinery for lowering the underwater gates inside the dam, stood on a ledge of masonry, great stairs of huge pinkish slabs of granite descending into deep water on either side. Just in front of the gatehouse the water was very deep; below this the gates opened, but in summer they were shut and the overflow trickled across the nearer of the two spillways. Lake Street ended at a T; to the right West Lake St came down from Boyd, crossing the spillways at a ford, and to the left it ran on over the low hill as E. Lake St. “Austin, jump in with me!” yelled Brianna. “I will if Jenna does.” “Ooh, it’s gonna be cold, and I don’t really wanna—“ said that individual. But she did jump after a while, splashing Brianna and Austin, who were already in by that time. The water was cool and felt so nice. It felt even nicer when Brianna squashed her breasts up against his chest and wrapped her smooth legs around him. She gave him cute little Bree-kisses, small and clingy, while Jenna mocked them. “Let’s go up to the beach.” said Bree when they were getting tired of jumping in. They climbed up the steps and stood around on the cement barrier. Jeremiah—Austin hadn’t even noticed the kid come, he’d been too occupied with Bree—was hanging around with Jenna and telling her and another guy who Austin hadn’t seen come that he was supposed to be hiding from the cops because he’d tried to fight another boy. “You shouldn’t be waving at every cruiser that passes by, then.” the other guy said dryly. “Yeah, I showed up at the park when I said, but the other f-- brought his f--ing parents.” “I hope my phone still works.” said Brianna carelessly. “I broke it again the other day.” She showed the other guy the cracked I-phone, elicting a couple of sardonic remarks as to what could she have been doing, then linked her arm in Jenna’s and headed off in front. She had a crazy, bubbly sort of personality, lively and abrupt. Seeing those two slender leggy girls, all white skin with only a few sexy streaks of fabric interrupting it, was one of the day’s better moments. The three guys followed at a slower pace, the other guy pushing a battered green bike with a basket, Jeremiah saying something now and then. “She’s mad hot.” he said after they’d passed the spillway. The road went over it like a roller coaster, dipping down then up then down again to the second trench-like hollow. The two girls were pushing each other and running on ahead for no reason, screaming with laughter. “Bree?” said Austin. The bike guy said nothing. “Naw, Jenna. I could so totally go for her.” “You’re only 14.” “So, I’m only two years younger. Cassie screwed with a boy in Pearson last month.” “Cassie’s mad fun when she’s drunk. Those b—s of hers—“ “Bree’s gonna be mad if she hears you say that.” Austin gave a careless belly laugh. “Winsted girls are all just out for sex. Everyone knows that.” The guy with the bike paced a little behind them, saying nothing, only listening in an odd thoughtful way. They got to the beach, and the bike guy kept egging Brianna in swimming, but she said lazily she’d be in later. They sat on the grass across the street from the beach. A short way past the spillway was the boat launch, and Lake St went on up while the shore road turned sharply left around the launch parking lot, then sharp right at the water. Between road and lake was a long sandy strip, narrow and steep, swiftly plunging into deep water. It was crowded with little black kids. Jenna and the bike guy—he was older than any of them, probably in his twenties—went in with Jeremiah, and when they came out the five of them sat around on the grass and chattered. The bike guy said very little, only listening, now and then an ironic smile crossing his face. Austin barely noticed him: he was just background. The girls were the only points of actual existence. “Brianna, there’s a little kid behind us who’s changing.” said Jeremiah, pushing back his longish sandy hair. There was a small dirt lot in the square angle of the corner, with cars in it. “Ooh, he’s naked!” as the kid’s towel slipped. Brianna turned around and looked. “Aw, you looked.” “Shut up,” she said, smiling. “Jenna, look, my phone doesn’t work now!” she exclaimed. Jenna leaned forward, her tiny silver-fish bikini bottom folding as she did, so that all three boys could see the firm lines of her pale-tan abdomen going down into nether regions. “Um, Jenna, I can see like right down you.” said Jeremiah. “I know!” she snapped, straightening up. Austin snickered. They chatted for a long time, he barely noticed how long; the careless who-cares talk of high schoolers. Suppertime was drawing near, he supposed, as he was getting a little hungry and the shadows were long. Jeremiah had left sometime, Austin didn’t know when, and he and the girls were alone. “I suppose we should be getting home.” Jenna said now. “Let’s get wet one more time before we go.” said Austin. “Nahh, I’m getting cold.” “How ‘bout we hang at the park? Julian said she’d be there, and Jas was supposed to show—you know, Jasmine from the Grill—“ said Brianna. “F-- yeah, I know her.” Brianna looked at him with one of her wide, half-shy, half lively smiles. She was wearing her glasses now and it gave to her face a rounded, pretty, sidelined appearance. “And you didn’t ask her out?” “Hey, I’m going out with you, not her.” “I know, I know, I’m just funning. Every guy I know is all over her; they’re like She’s got such awesome b—s, and those t—s…” “I think your b—s are better.” While the girls were howling over that, and commenting on the probable state of certain parts of him, they started ambling down the road. At the spillway a car was coming as they crossed the pedestrian footbridge. It charged, sending water a dozen feet into the air, all over Brianna who had fallen behind. She shrieked with pure joy, running up to the others, totally drenched. The park was down in the valley. Most of Winsted was valley, either on the narrow floor or climbing up the hills behind. It was a small town, tall brick storebuildings along one side of the main street, old townhouses packed closely along the bizarre twisting streets. At the other end of the valley was a flat area opening out into the Torrington valley, and along the street running south was the park. Silver maples of great size overhung a playground; past this were two ballfields, one fenced, up against the swamps, and across the road were more ballfields. A drive entered the park and there was a clubhouse near the parking lot, shutting in the playground. The dugouts on the nearer ballfield bordered the playground and road respectively. The lot was divided from the basketball court by a high chain-link fence. Just as she’d said, there was Brianna, in the middle of a group of her friends. She squealed when she saw Austin and ran over to kiss him. Delilah, chubby and brassy with short hair, hooted. The other girls all said “Hi, Austin” and went on chattering. They were standing or sitting on the paved walk behind the clubhouse, facing the field. A lot of others were there, on the bleachers or in the dugout or hanging around the court where some black kids were shooting hoops: many of them girls Austin knew, and some of the usual guys. There was the Zimmerman kid, tall and gangly and plump, long blond hair under a sort of black derby hat. He had glasses. “This has been one crazy summer, man, hasn’t it?” Connor was saying. “I know,” said Ally, shaking her head; plump and buxom, Austin thought her cute but too fat. “There was that freak earthquake or flood or whatever down Third Bay, last month—the whole end of the lake was just like wiped out. Kevin died there, did you know? His island house got like scrubbed off the map.” “I heard it was all a hoax, the earthquake stuff, I mean.” giggled Jasmine. She had rounded, slightly chubby features, bright soft eyes and a buxom figure. “Some people are saying it was a government bomb or something.” “Well, I'' heard it was as if the lake peeled itself up and poured down on Kevin’s house.” said Cassie lazily. She had the same sort of rounded cuteness as her sister Ally and Jasmine, and the same buxom sexiness. “And my dad says it was all an alien attack!” “It really was freaky, though.” put in Zimmerman. “I went out Mad River Dam way, just to check, and the news was right, the whole dike vanished.” “Where’s that again?” “You know, up Rt. 44—Main St, that is—just west of us. The flood control dike. And it’s just gone poof. Vaporized.” “Hey, maybe we’ve got superheros running around!” “Aw, c’mon, supers only exist in movies.” “I dunno,” said Zimmerman, “my grandpa says there were real ones in his days.” “Get out, he’s an old geezer. There’s no Internet stuff about them. If they really existed, they’d be on the Net.” “I can’t wait for the carnival. Isn’t it supposed to be next week?” “It should be; we’ll know when we see all the rides suddenly appear out of nowhere in the field. I haven’t seen any signs.” “Yeah, it is next week.” said Connor, who was in the volunteer fire dept. “Maybe it’s the Wild Man of Winsted thingy.” said Ally, going back to the topic. “What’s a what?” said Brianna. “Oh, some caveman legend that’s supposed to appear around here. Butt-naked, too.” said Jasmine. “I’d love to see what a Wild Man’s d-- is like.” “Yeah, you just wanna feel it in you, Cass.” jeered Delilah. “Shut up, f—head.” “Go f-- yourself, a—h--.” “I’m bored.” said Zimmerman, rather loudly: he was a little tiresome to swear around. “Who wants to play baseball?” “It’s too hot.” said Jasmine. “Hey, we all know you’re just gonna sit around and root, what are you worried about?” Brianna said abrasively. “Sounds good to me.” said Austin; he was a little tired of just hanging around. It would be really cool if some of the girls played. Even if they didn’t, at least he’d get to show off his sporting prowess. Brianna wanted to pitch. She turned out to be such a lousy thrower that Connor sent her out to play base. That suited Austin just fine; when he actually got a hit and made it to 1st he got to kiss Brianna and fondle her a little before Zimmerman spoiled everything by getting a double and forcing him to advance to third. After several innings everyone was too hot and tired to play any longer. They decided to hang out on the old rail bed across the cemetery, as the river would hopefully be cooler. “And buggier.” “I brought bug spray; I always carry some.” and Ally went around spraying everyone with bug repellant that smelled perfumed. Some of the boys complained it made them smell all wussy and girlish. “Yeah, I can see why it repels the bugs—who’d want to be around that smell?” hooted Austin. Laughing and chattering, they headed across the parking lot and down the cemetery drive. Beyond the park a low hill rose, with scattered pine trees, and the cemetery sprawled over this hill and down to the base, where one of the many winding driveways ringed the edge. “Do we have to walk by here?” said Brianna. “What’s wrong, Bree, are you ''scared?” mocked Deli. “No, it’s just I always freak when I go near a cemetery. You know it’s not very nice there.” “What, you think zombies are gonna push up a gravestone or two and come after you? Or maybe a ghost in green mist?” Delilah said flippantly. “You’re '' mean.” “Hey, it’s broad daylight.” said Austin. “And ghosts and zombies are only in horror movies.” said Zimmerman. They walked around the base of the hill, following the level drive. Thick new tombstones filed past. Austin barely noticed them; he was too busy watching Brianna’s breasts swing as she walked beside him. “Did anyone, like, bring pot?” she called. “This would be a perfect time.” “You wanna get high in a graveyard??” said Ally. “No, silly, on the railroad.” All the kids in Winsted knew about the park. Not many of the kids in Winsted knew about the old railroad. Sure, there were signs about it all over the bike path in the center of town, and if you had a good eye for it it was easy to trace the grade across Bridge St and along the fenced garden behind the old Hogie’s Ice Cream place, behind the condo and so to the old stone walls behind the skateboarding park and the level ledge below the cemetery which ran out onto the high causeway across the swamp. But such an eye was not common in the average Winsted high-schooller in the Year of Our Lord 2011, and so if they knew at all, it was by hearsay. They pushed into the woods on the south side of the cemetery. Honeysuckle bushes formed the understory beneath black birch, beech and oak. But to the teens it was just a vague mass of waist-high green twigs under high open grey-black trunks, as they pushed through discussing whether Lady Gaga had male—privates. A high steep ridge barred their way, nearly 20 feet high and narrow at the top. They scrambled up this somehow, Brianna and the boys nimbly, Ally and some others with considerable help from the boys. On top was a path, with old shells of rotting wood embedded in blackish cindery soil under the leaves, between honeysuckle bushes with their pale knotty white stems and small green leaves. After they turned left and followed this, they came to a high lip of masonry above Still River. Hornbeam, beech and birch clung to the black-earthed slopes. Below was the languid brown river, broad pools fenced with water sedge and high grass, often full of water lily. “I like this place.” said Brianna. “Don’t even ''think about going off this headfirst!” yelled Austin. “Shut up, you retard, I told you I’m on meds to handle that.” “Did you hear what Julian did the other day??” said Deli. “Maybe if you sit up and beg.” said Ally. “Shut up, you a—h--!” “Hey, what was it she did, anyway?” said Zimmerman. “Oh, she changed out of her suit right on the beach, and the lifeguard threw her out. She loved every bit of it. The lifeguard was a guy, too, so he didn’t throw her out until she was done, and he’d had a good loooook….” “I changed into my suit on Main St yesterday.” said Cassie. “A lot of people hooted at me. Mostly old guys, though. I bet it’s the first action they’ve seen in twenty years.” “You did NOT, girl!” shrieked Brianna. “You know what, you people are gross.” said Zimmerman. Austin tossed and turned. The summer night was stifling, fan or no fan. His sleep was thick and groggy, with dreams like fever. No sooner had he dropped off than he saw them. He did not know what they were, but he knew they were evil: long sinuous monsters, short legs dragging their serpentine bodies, some with mighty folded wings, some wingless; some crawled, some stalked on two legs with short bodies and long tails and no arms; some had one head, some had five. Strange beards and ears shaped like flames adorned their heads. Long snouted faces passed him, sinister and sarcastic, with long sly smiles. Eyes…he could never remember their eyes, only that the very sight of them was a nightmare. He had dreamed of them—or, more properly, they had begun walking through his dreams—only for the last few months. Some of his friends had had similar dreams, and they knew names for these awful creatures: dragons. Tonight he was tiptoeing amid a pacing procession of dragons, avoiding their cold bodies and praying none of them turned to look at him. Then they all stopped, and drew aside, and bowing low they did homage. As Austin stared, unable to move from fright, he became aware that the sky in front of him was actually a dragon vaster than the others, and it had seven heads, and every one of those heads was looking straight at him. '' “Austin.” '' said the Huge Dragon. “Adore.” “I—I—I—I—don’t know what that means, dude.” The dragon laughed, an awful sound. “Oh, you will come to know it so very well, you fatherless bastard.” “I know my father!” “Do you now.” sneered the Dragon. “Adore. Or be my sport. You do not want to be my sport.” “But what’s an '' adore??” “Time’s up.” the Dragon said, and a torrent of black water burst from his mouths… Austin floundered in his covers. The water was thick, very warm, and unwet. He came groggily awake. His pajama pants were damp and sticky. Half-asleep he shambled into the bathroom to shower. The shower had the side effect of waking him up. He couldn’t get to sleep. What an awful dream. He must have been watching too many movies. What did adore mean, anyway? And how could he dream a word he didn’t know? He was so rattled that he turned on the light and played video games on his IPAD until the grey dawn told him it was time for breakfast. Today was not one of his better days. He went up to the beach again but Brianna didn’t show. Grumbling to himself he walked down past Rockwell St where she lived, wondering if he should just knock on the door or try calling a fifteenth time. The houses on Rockwell were spaced far apart on the upper end, until you got to the sudden downhill into the suburb on the south wall of the Winsted valley. Brianna lived in an old settled white farmhouse with no farm; a barn/garage stood beside it, and behind it the woods fell steeply downhill. There she was, all right. She and that fat black a—h—were lying around on the porch and chilling out, and he even had his arm around her. AJ, that was his name. He’d been going out with her before she switched to Austin. A surge of bile rose in his throat. “Hey, Bree!” he said harshly as he headed up the steps. “I see you’re having fun.” “Hi, Austin. What’s wrong?” “You got your f—ing nerve, bitch, I’ve been calling you all day, you know you were going to meet me at the beach and now you’re dissin’ me for '' him?” “Hey, I was just getting ready and then AJ dropped by. Stop being a retard.” “Listen up, fat f—“ Austin snapped at AJ. “You lay off my girl, you hear?” “Just because she’s your girl don’t mean she drops all her friends, bro.” AJ said, putting his hands on her shoulders. Brianna laughed. “And friends get benefits.” Furniture flew every which way, Brianna among them. Things got dim and blurry. Trees became grey and green shadows. Porch and railings were only faint shapes. The world concentrated on the fat pig sprawling on the floor. “So you lookin’ for a fight, dude?” AJ sneered as he got up. “Come on then, little man.” AJ was strong, but Austin was faster. He barely noticed what happened. One or two blows broke into the grey whirlpool of fury in his eyes, but did not hurt. His own fist hit. Both fists hit, one after another. Then AJ wasn’t hitting at him, because he was on the floor, and Austin kicked and Austin hit, a horrid maniac need to render extinct the pig filling what little mind he had. The sirens shook him awake. The pulpy mess in front of him, still whimpering, was no longer black but dull red. It pleased him. The sirens. He realized, all at once, they were coming nearer. They were coming for him. Going from fury to panic in 2 seconds flat, Austin jumped the railing (what remained of it) and plowed crazily downhill into the trees. He retained just enough sense to angle left, towards the Historical Society which was never open and away from the fire department beside it. The slope was steep and rocky under the far-set maples, a small watercourse and a stone wall marking the border of the Society backyard. He stumbled out onto the driveway of the huge palatial white house the Society had taken over and refurbished: paved but furrowed into two trenches with age, it ran between stone walls to plunge steeply to Lake St just below the Boyd St fork. The mansion occupied a high tongue of land, a square highland twenty feet above the street, Prospect Street plunging down to meet Lake on the east and Lake St climbing on the north. He scrambled around the front. Square and tall, white columns fronted the porch and great old maples stood about on short mossy turf. Old pearlbushes stood above the high retaining walls edging the remains of the railroad overpass that had been destroyed long ago: it had cut across the corner, crossing both streets. Austin raced across Prospect and jumped the cement wall with its’ railing, landing awkwardly on the steep slope behind. Locusts and maples rose from the plunging ground, and thirty feet below lay Mad River, a shallow stony-bedded stream about twenty feet wide. Sirens still sounded. He was trapped: even as he crept down the slope he saw police cars howling up Main St which ran above and parallel to the river on the far side. He crouched behind a big maple, breathing raggedly. “You’re in a big hurry.” said somebody. Austin spun around with a gasp. A tall thin young man with red hair and sharp features was straightening up from a blackberry bush nearby. “Wait. I saw you yesterday at the beach, didn’t I? With Brianna?” The bike guy! Of course! “Uh…maybe…uh, can you, like, keep it down, man?” said Austin nervously as another police car cruised slowly with flashing lights along Main St across from and almost on a level with them. “They’re after you?” said the bike guy. Austin nodded. Shoving his berry container into a black backpack, the bike guy beckoned. “Follow me. Dead quiet. Slow and careful.” They crept down to the river. It was stony and shallow, flat-bedded and not very swift this time of year. “Wade.” the bike guy said. “Hug the far shore. Slowly.” They sloshed into the river, shoes and all. The bike guy wore pants. The water was cool, coming barely halfway up their calves. Round stones slipped underfoot. They waded under the lee of the brush hanging over the bank. On Main St above them, hidden by a steep brushy bank and young locust trees, they heard voices, but no one looked down into the gulch and they were unopposed. On the left a junkyard occupied the widening wedge of flat ground between the river and Prospect St, followed by the rambling wings of an auto garage. On the right was the driveway of the ambulance place now, the river bending away from Main St, and the crackle of cop radios came from above. They breathed easier once the brick wall of the ambulance place shut them in, and still more when that was past as well and the corrugated grey metal wall of the daycare place next to the garage rose on the left. Ahead was the Lake St bridge. “Daslenga will protect us.” said the strange guy. “Who?” “Sh. The river will only help those who are careful.” Weird, thought Austin. They waded slowly, glancing up warily at the bridge. A pedestrian passed but took no notice. The river looked so different from underneath, the stripes of the concrete bars passing overhead and the darkened pebbly concrete abutments that held it up. They were so relieved when they were safely under the bridge they had to stop and rest. “So what exactly did you do?” the bike guy said. “Beat up that fat bastard AJ.” “I hope he deserved it.” the other said. He spoke this in a very odd tone, almost of reserved judgement. “H-- yeah, he was petting my girl.” “Bree is somewhat too free at times.” the man agreed. Austin could barely hear him over the river-murmer. “What’s your name, man? I owe you one.” “I am Ronnie Wendy.” the other replied. Now that Austin was so close to him, he felt strangely repelled by his rescuer. Something about him was utterly alien to Austin and everything he knew. Hard, sinister, weird: as if Austin and the minds and attitudes of everyone else all flowed in one more or less general way; and this Ronnie slashed across in a totally different direction, he jarred, he clashed, every time he opened his mouth it came out like a smell, a hard clean smell Austin hated by instinct. “What do we do?” he asked. “I can help you cross to the woods. After that our ways will part. I aided you because you are hunted. I have my own business to attend to. I cannot shepherd you.” Something in the tone made Austin realize Ronnie felt as little liking for him as he for Ronnie. They waded on, hugging the left shore. Here Main Street came so close that the river flowed at the base of a high cement wall with a metal kerb below the street. The left shore was hung with bittersweets and drooping branches. Some way on, a large stream flowed chattering in on the left. “Lake outlet.” whispered Ronnie. After maybe six hundred feet a factory rose on the left behind the trees, brick and complicated, and a side street crossed the river ahead of them. The right side beyond the bridge was a crude masonry of huge piled boulders with trees growing in them. Main St bent away from the river and a gas station where Austin and his friends sometimes hung out at night, took its’ place. “Here we part.” said Ronnie Wendy. “Do you see that pipe?” In the boulder-wall was an ancient concrete conduit, four feet high. A stream flowed out of it. “That way, after many twists and turns, will lead you out near the Hinsdale school, from which you can cut up into the Gilbert High School grounds and the woods. Or you can follow the river to where Indian Meadow Brook enters—beyond that the river is too open—and that will get you to the woods behind the hospital north of Winsted. Your path is up to you. I wish you luck.” “Thanks, man.” “You’re welcome.” said Ronnie gravely. He climbed up the bank and was gone. Austin waded up the river. He decided to climb the wall and peer over: maybe one of his buddies was there in the parking area. He got lucky: Dustin and Connor and their girls were having a beer, and Connor when he casually asked for a lift agreed to drive him to his house. They didn’t have far to go, only up into the steep streets of West Winsted; but as they drew near the house, Austin fell quiet. “Why is there a cop staking out the house?” Connor said. “Quick, drive on past!” yelped Austin, sinking in the seat. “Too late! He’s seen us! Oh d—!” as the cruiser’s lights burst out in red and blue. Connor pulled over. “Hey, man, what the h--? We can outrun ‘em!” “Sorry dude. You didn’t say nuthin’ about the police. I’m probably gonna be screwed enough just having you in the car. Now you better sit there and tough it out, man. It ain’t gonna be that bad.” He locked the doors. “You f—ing traitor!” “No skin off my a--, man. I ain’t getting in trouble on your account. Not anyone’s.” The group of young people got out of Vanessa’s small red car and headed up the grassy trail of Stillwater Pond in Torrington. Austin knew nothing about it, only that it was in Torrington, a larger city south of Winsted and joined to it by a long flat valley. He barely noticed the tall pines overhead or the green walls of brush on either side, making an open secret avenue of shaded green grass. It was three days after the fight. Brianna walked beside him, while Julian, Delilah and Vanessa were chattering about boys. “Hey, sorry about you getting nabbed.” she said. “AJ was a jerk. I didn’t call you in. My mom did.” “Yeah, and now I’ve got to do community f—ing service till Kingdom come.” said Austin sulkily. The judge had “slapped his wrists”, making him do community and report to a probation officer, but not anything else, to the ire of AJ’s mom. Let her bitch. Right now he wanted to enjoy himself. Then maybe he and Bree could go off somewhere…alone… “Hey, Aust,” said Julian cattily, looking over her shoulder, “I hear you wanna get married.” “What! I do not!” “Oh no? You’re as jealous as a huuusbaaannnd!” and she and Delilah raced on ahead, shrieking with laughter. Ahead of them an old woman was walking down the trail. Austin felt embarrassed. She looked so ridiculously old and non-sexy it made him want to walk past as quickly as he could. Seriously, hags like that ought to be shut up in rest homes or euthanized or something. She had a dress and shawl that blew out around her as she walked. “Hey, there you are!” Delilah squealed. She and Julian were embracing the old hag. “Oh, these are our friends Austin, Vanessa and Brianna.” The old woman looked at the others and then at him with a strange, knowing smile. It made him three times more uncomfortable, as if she was having a private joke at his expense. Her eyes were very deep and dark. “Hello, dragons.” she said in a cracked old voice. “Such a pleasure to meet you.” “Uh…what?” “Yeah, what are you talking about?” said Julian. “Manners, young lady. Oh, you children, so shallow and stupid, minds in your buttocks. Just as they should be. We have labored so hard to produce you, dragons and witches, and the time is ripe at last. '' Listen for your Father. Listen for his call.”'' Then she walked on, her garments blowing behind her, the black laurel cane in her hand stabbing the ground every other stride. “Shall we go off the dam first or the rope swing?” said Brianna as they stood looking irresolutely after her. “Naw, they totally trashed the rope swing.” “Aw man! I want to see.” “Let’s jump off first.” Accordingly they took an intersecting trail, maybe a hundred feet in from their car, that led left down a dent in a small hill to an open grassy dike. Deep shade cast by the huge white pines around them made it quite cool, but Austin barely noticed the pines; he only saw the girls. Coming from out of the pine-shadow, the sun was wonderfully bright and hot. On the left the steep back road plunged down into a valley, crossing Naugatuck River’s eastern branch on a high bridge. There was a gate below the dike at the edge of the grassy area and enough space in front of it for two cars to park, and some of those silly state signs saying NO SWIMMING were tacked up here and there and everywhere. The dam of Stillwater Pond went on in front of them, low at the near end, but as the ground on the left fell farther the berm grew higher, steep and grassy, almost forty feet on the left. The water lapped the stones ten feet below on the right. At the far end was a brick gatehouse above a sheer cement cliff, a ledge running around it, ten feet above the spillway. This was very high at the gatehouse end, but a great slope of rock climbed up to engulf it, so that the farther end was only a few feet high and green with water-slime. An elbow of very deep water thus extended under the gatehouse ledge to a square corner with another wall terminating the rocky berm, fenced by corrugated metal. Jumping off this ledge was pretty much the whole point of coming here. The lake stretched out, long and winding, white pines fencing it in on all sides, a few houses nearby on the left but otherwise all state-owned, curse it, because the goons kept vandalizing perfectly safe rope swing stands. Two other girls were sitting on the ledge, dripping wet and evidently warming up. One was short and very young, maybe about 12, with a mobile, shrewd and pleasant face. The other, a tall skinny blonde with startlingly light blue eyes, leaped up and embraced Vanessa and Delilah, laughing and exclaiming. The 12-year-old had a green one-piece, and the blonde, much taller and leggier, had a dissapointingly unrevealing red top and shorts. She had a handsome, almost statuesque sort of face with a vivid expression. Austin and Brianna jumped in and then climbed out to sit on the spillway. The girls were on the ledge above them, still chatting as they worked up nerve to jump: their conversation had an oddly halting, uncomfortable note, as if neither side knew quite what to say; as if they were old friends that had so changed since their last meeting that they could no longer speak their old language. He didn’t notice this, of course; all he was noticing was whether Bree would let him put his hand all the way inside her bottom or whether he would have to be content with her waist. It pretty much depended on whether she’d taken her meds. Finally there were several loud splashes and then the dark heads of the four girls. Vanessa, Julian and Delilah swam to the spillway and pulled themselves up; the other girl swam over to the rocks and climbed up to rejoin her friend. “Ooh, the water’s nice but it’s cold.” said Vanessa. “So who was that?” Brianna wanted to know. “That was Broke, you know her, the Three Fatalities?” “Oh yeah!” Brianna giggled. “The three blondes. You guys were thick as gays all last year.” “Not now.” said Delilah. “She’s got some little chick with her and—she’s changed. She’s gone really weird. The things she says are so—I don’t know. Like she’s up on some pedestal or something.” “She sounds like a homeschooler.” said Vanessa with a curled lip. “Like that Midwinter bitch I worked with. Big words, big thoughts—I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” “Probably trying to get a Catholic to date her.” said Julian cattily. “She should just show some b—b.” Austin, feeling like doing a “gainer” to impress the girls, swam over to the shallows where the berm began—the only way to get back up, apart from climbing. The water was so cold he decided to lie on the grass a little first before he jumped. Brooke and the little kid were sitting on towels just above him, and Austin spread his and stretched out. Their conversation, muted but melodious, drifted down to him. “…what Arheled would say.” Austin’s heart went cold. What the heck was an arheled? And why did he instinctively feel both fear and revulsion at its’ very sound? He listened intently. The 12-year-old was speaking. “He probably would tell you that both of you have grown, but in opposite ways.” “Yeah, I mean, I listen to them and I’m like How did they get like that? Were they always that crass?” “It could be, and you’ve been speaking with Arheled so much that you suddenly see exactly what they really are. Or it could be something else. They might be growing worse, while you are growing more—high.” “I know, when you’ve been—wooed—“ Brooke began giggling the way a girl does when she’s blushing, “by Wild, you don’t see anything the same. And not to mention how much I’ve been through, as well.” Her voice was so sombre it surprised Austin, listening while pretending not to. “I know, you actually called the whole lake.” “I’m still trying to figure out how I did that, Bell.” “It’s pretty simple to me. You have an affinity with water. You affine with it and it responds.” “That’s pretty much how Arheled put it.” So. A name, then. Some creepy old dude, likely, who’d been putting them through some stupid church camp. Or maybe a Bible group leader. He got up, suddenly sure that if he heard them babble on like that, all remote and lofty and f—ing snooty, he might throw up. He glanced out of the side of his eyes as he walked by: (Our Lord’s name in vain), but she had hot legs, that Brooke. He wanted to get on top of her, screw all that high stuff out her bottom, he wanted to so bad it actually surprised him: was something, like, wrong with him, man? He wasn’t no rapist! Hurriedly he jumped in and swam over to the girls. He’d evidently been way too long without sex. Back to Arheled